


A Fair Trade

by misura



Category: Kong: Skull Island (2017)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 14:31:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13572546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: "We keep going like this, I'm going to have to teach you how to play baseball," Hank says. "Is that what you want?"





	A Fair Trade

Gunpei holds out the sword to him - sheathed, so Hank figures they're still okay, or as okay as they can get. He's not sure what the natives would do if they were to try to kill one another. Watch and wait, probably, and then maybe poke the winner to dead with their spears.

Nice folks, really, the Iwi. Could've been much worse. Could've been, they were cannibals, and then he and Gunpei'd be dead meat by now, instead of sort-of, kinda friends.

Not that Hank expects that to last for longer than a couple of seconds after the rescue party shows up. _If_ a rescue party's ever going to show up.

"You wanna surrender?" he asks, in English. They've been teaching one another their languages, for lack of anything better to do. If the Iwi'd had a language, Hank'd have preferred to learning _that_ , but hey. Beggars, choosers.

Gunpei scowls. "No surrender." Gunpei's English is pretty terrible, but then, Hank's not under any illusion that he's some sort of star-pupil himself. "Teach. Me. Teach you."

Hank stares at the sword. It's - well, it's an honest-to-God sword. Not something anyone in their right mind would take with them when you're fighting a war in the 20th century. In an airplane.

'Course, they're not in an airplane right now. Came damn close to killing him, that sword.

"I - " he says. He feels strangely touched, a little humbled, even. If Hank'd been the one with the sword, he's not sure that he'd have done the same, been big enough to walk up to a guy he'd tried to kill (a guy who'd tried to kill him right back, let's not forget) and tell him, _'hey, let me show you how this works'_. "You sure about that, buddy?"

Gunpei's scowl gets a bit deeper, before he grins. "Bad," he proclaims. "You. Bad student. Slow."

"Well, now, I haven't even started," Hank says. "And hey, maybe it's simply that you're a bad teacher, you ever think about that?"

Gunpei shakes his head and mutters something in Japanese. Hank doesn't think it's something flattering, which is fair enough. After all, here's Gunpei, making a damn fine gesture, and here's Hank, ungrateful as get out. Should be ashamed of himself.

"Know what, fine," Hank says. "You." He points at Gunpei, because the only thing worse than getting killed by some unsmiling, never-talking native for touching a sacred rock or something would be getting killed by Gunpei for accidentally insulting him by mispronouncing a totally easy to mispronounce word in Japanese. "Teach." Point at the sword. "Me." Point at himself. "Thank you." He puts together his hands and bows, the way he's seen in a movie one time.

"Good," Gunpei says, nodding. "Is good."

"Is damn strange, is what it is," Hank grumbles. Gunpei stares at him, almost like an Iwi. Hank rolls his eyes, to show how not impressed he is. "We keep going like this, I'm going to have to teach you how to play baseball," Hank says. "Is that what you want?"

Gunpei smirks.

"You play baseball in Japan?" Hank asks. He's not sure what gesture to make by way of indicating 'a great sport where you hit a ball with a bat and people watch while eating hot dogs and drinking beer'.

"Baseball. Good." Gunpei slaps his shoulder, as if they really are buddies, no maybe, sorta, kinda about it. "You teach. I teach. Fair."

"God have mercy on our souls," Hank says, but he feels the corners of his mouth tug up and up, until he's smiling.


End file.
